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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597665">The Tale of Vim Barringmore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cendre/pseuds/Cendre'>Cendre</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Backstory, Gen, Selectively Mute Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:20:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cendre/pseuds/Cendre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The backstory behind a character met on a carousal, in the city of Waterdeep.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Special thanks to Lenny_X for DMing the game, running the session that takes place in chapters 3 and 4, and proofreading multiple times. He understands the game much better than I. </p>
<p>Thanks to Bluestreek for keeping it wholesome, and for reviewing part of the work (and keeping it secret!).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Magic; it was almost everywhere, if one knew where to look. Vasati opened the boy’s eyes. She taught him just how ignorant he truly was to the Weave. He remembered when he first caught sight of the wondrous effects of a spell many years ago, a dazzling array of sparks she held up against the glow of Lliira’s Night<a href="#lliiranight" id="lliiranightback" name="lliiranightback"><sup>1</sup></a>. She explained how magic permeates the universe, as omnipresent in Waterdeep as the air they breathed. Sympathetic to his yearning for knowledge, she agreed to show more and teach him what she knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a minder of the orphanage, the opportunities were few and far between, but her otherworldly powers extended to making everything a teaching moment, a new opportunity to use magic. She showed how one could use magic to light the cooking fire, clean clothes, and even improve the taste of the bland food, though it took a long time for him to catch on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t beat yourself up over it,” she would tell him after a failure. “It’s a lot harder for humans to pick up,” and he would nod halfheartedly. He noticed other elves pick up magic with ease as he roamed the streets, but he could not ignore some of his human acquaintances catching on long before he did. They could create sparks for their games and mend their torn clothes; the most he had to show for years of practice was a puff of smoke. He wished he could disappear as the dissipating smoke did when the other kids laughed at his attempts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m never using magic again,” he said bitterly after a day of taunts, heaving the washboard into the full basin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and I both know that’s not true.” He hated that Vasati was right; try as he might, he could never resist the allure of magic, the desire to learn more. “I know that, given time, you’ll become a great wizard. It’s in your name.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vim Barringmore</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She told him that, in her language, his given name meant great power and energy. She believes that, since a novice spellbook and wand were recovered, his parents likely wanted him to become a wizard, just as they were. He believed it to be just another practical joke, only this time played by his late parents rather than the other boys and girls; it felt like an orc would have more luck with magic than him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nevertheless, he continued his studies, seeking out the library at any spare opportunity, and practicing magic as he did his chores, away from the scathing public eye, when he could. Though he did improve over the years, he always floundered when the pressure was on. Other orphans who knew he could wield magic would take him along when they went to panhandle<a href="#panhandle" id="panhandleback" name="panhandleback"><sup>2</sup></a>, pressuring him with the allure of money to purchase new spells for his book. He planned grand shows of smoke and sparks and music, yet could only produce faint pops and odd smells, earning a nib or two in compassion, if he was lucky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll never join W.O.M.P. at this rate!” The kids would jeer, knowing the insult cut deepest. He owed his life to Waterdeep’s Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors. The fires that caught his parents would have spread to his room too, had they not swiftly taken action in dousing the flames. He always heard of their feats protecting the citizens. He even got the opportunity to see a few mages in action, putting down an orc threat by the gates of the Field Ward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group was headed by Tim Barringmore, one of the highest ranking members of the Watchful Order, and alike to Vim only by name. Despite no familial ties, however, people began mistaking the two. It started innocent enough, people on the street would hear Vim’s name and ask to see a magic trick - inevitably disappointed at his show. He hoped, at least, that his own name cropping up more in the public consciousness would lead to an invitation from the Order, but he was never approached. He knew the guild policed the use of magic within Waterdeep, it felt strange to never hear from any of the members. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>During Sornyn<a href="#sornyn" id="sornynback" name="sornynback"><sup>3</sup></a>, the case of mistaken identity was not so innocent. </span>
</p>
<p>-</p>
<p><a id="lliiranight" name="lliiranight"></a>1. Lliira’s Night - A summer festival that honored the goddess Lliira. Fireworks were a staple tradition for the holiday. <a href="#lliiranightback">↩</a><br/>
<a id="panhandle" name="panhandle"></a>2. Panhandle - to beg in the street. <a href="#panhandleback">↩</a><br/>
<a id="sornyn" name="sornyn"></a>3. Sornyn - A three-day-long festival that celebrated Waukeen and Lathander. It was a day for new beginnings. <a href="#sornynback">↩</a></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The day started warm and bright, a good omen for Waterdavians. Vim always enjoyed going out during the festivals; there was plenty of good drink, marvelous performances to be seen, and the local investigator Vincent Trench always gave out balloons. It always served as an opportunity to make money, too. He tried to avoid magic related activities whenever possible, but they at least served as a reliable source of pity coppers. He would be too old to remain at the orphanage before long, so he accepted that he would have to face humiliation more often. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling mellow thanks to a bit of wine from Vasati, Vim strode through the streets of the North Ward confidently. Finding a clear space, he set down a collection bowl, and produced a cluster of rainbow sparks and a faint song successfully for a small group of passersby, earning a couple copper coins.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, daddy!” A small child walking nearby shouted, tugging on a man’s hand and pointing at Vim. “Isn’t that Tim Barringmore?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I think you’re right, dear!” He said, approaching the boy. “What a blessed day, to finally meet the prodigy child himself.” On a normal day, Vim would sheepishly deny the claim; he never felt comfortable when compared to the wizard genius and feared their inevitable disappointment. But today was different. Despite the relatively small amount of wine he consumed, it still affected his inhibitions. He decided to take a risk, to try something he had only done before privately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vim</span>
  </em>
  <span> Barringmore, not Tim. But I can change that.” Curiosity of the slowly growing crowd now piqued, Vim lifted his star-tipped wand. While focusing on the image of Tim, he waved it while uttering the mystic words. After a moment, his short, brown hair appeared to lose its pigmentation. A lengthy, white beard to match formed on his face, reaching down to nearly his feet. His clothes became a long blue robe, shoes turning an identical shade. Finally, rather than choosing to make himself appear taller to closer match Tim’s height, Vim instead appeared to shrink slightly. He topped the illusion with Tim’s signature blue hat, the height of which was exaggerated to a comical degree. The only relatively unchanged aspect to the disguise was the glasses Vim wore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never fear, Waterdeep! Tim Barringmore is here!” Vim struck a dramatic pose, shooting blue sparks from his wand. To his glee, the crowd roared with laughter and applause. “Thank you!” He said with a gracious bow as a couple of people left coppers in his nearby bowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Viiiiiiiim!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Boomed an unnaturally loud voice from the other end of the street. The crowd looked back confused at the sudden outrage, stepping aside to clear a path. It was none other than his idol, the real Tim Barringmore, eyes burning with rage as he stomped straight toward him. Vim dismissed the disguise, a pit forming in his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tim Barringmore, what an honor.” Vim said meekly as the aged wizard arrived in front of him. His typical jolly expression was nowhere to be seen, replaced with an intense scowl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You dare call yourself a mage, with your shameful displays of novice party tricks?!” Vim recoiled in fright, left speechless at the stinging words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I thought it was quite funny,” remarked one of the onlookers. He picked on the strings of his guitar, mumbling something Vim could not quite catch. The boy stared, transfixed; he had not seen bardic magic up close before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s nothing funny about any of this!” Tim hollered, turning to face the crowd. “This little miscreant is soiling my good name and turning me into a practical joke with W.O.M.P.!” Vim noticed the tall blue hat atop Tim’s head start to float, and a chuckle from the nearby bard. Tim, in all his ranting, did not take notice. “After all that I’ve done for this city, you should be laughing at him, not me!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry pal, they’re not laughing at you,” the bard declared, the tall blue hat now atop his head. “But me, Tim </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bard</span>
  </em>
  <span>ingmore!” Tim snatched his hat away from the man as the crowd laughed, seething at the slight. Too flustered to temper the spectators, he instead rounded on Vim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna regret the day you ever looked at a spellbook, boy!” Tim spat, jabbing a finger into his chest before marching off. The crowds began to disperse, Vim staring at the ground with guilt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, I wouldn’t listen to him, he’s just a grumpy old bully,” the bard said, stepping up to Vim’s side and patting him on the shoulder.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s right, though,” Vim confessed, avoiding the musician’s eye. “I’ve never been very good at magic. I’ve not even been approached by W.O.M.P. - well, unless you count just then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that can’t be right, Vim - your name’s Vim, right?” He nodded. “What I saw was some great magic. I mean, you looked just like the old coot.” The bard paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Although, you could have gone a bit taller with the hat.” He earned a chuckle from the boy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you move that hat, anyways?” Vim wondered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, right! That’s my unseen servant.” He gave an introductory gesture to the empty air beside him. “Not very useful in fights, but fun to have around sometimes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s cool,” Vim said, eyes gleaming. “I haven’t seen anything like that before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither have I!” The bard said with a grin, getting another small laugh from Vim. “If you think that’s cool, you should come to our tavern sometime once it opens. I’ve got some friends who are pretty good at magic too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A new tavern? Where at?” Vim hoped it was not too far, he hardly ever left the North Ward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The old manor over at Trollskull Alley, it’s actually not too far off from here.” Vim pondered for a moment; the location sounded familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that the same alley where the Tiger’s Eye is?” The bard nodded enthusiastically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, do you know Vincent Trench, too? He’s such a great neighbor.” He glanced up at the sky for a moment. “I have to go now, I’ll catch you later, Vim.” He reached into his pockets, retrieving a couple coins and tossing them into Vim’s collection bowl. “Loved the performance today, you’ll have to show me more sometime.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, I can’t accept this!” Vim objected, staring at the two gold pieces resting among the copper in disbelief. “That’s way too much!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” the bard said courteously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, thank you very much, sir!” Vim could feel tears pricking his eyes. With two dragons, he could easily feed himself for weeks once he had to leave the orphanage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just call me Maxwell,” he responded with a beam. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the weeks that followed, Vim would occasionally bump into the farmer-turned-bardic adventurer at the Snakes and Ladders tavern; never to eat or drink, as his funds were limited, but to chat with Maxwell, or his mother, the onsite chef, if he was not around. It puzzled him that Maxwell and his friends chose to open it when they were away so much. Anytime Vim would ask what it was they did, the bard would say they were helping around the city, but never went into detail. He did not appear to be lying, but Vim believed the eccentric tavern owners to be up to more than they let on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Still, more interesting than anything I’d ever do, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vim had thought idly. He hoped that, after his display of magic, someone from the Watchful Order would take notice and perhaps offer him training with their mage academy, but he had no such luck. He put so much of his life into improving his magic - he had no alternative plans, nowhere to stay, nothing. He was at a dead end. He felt fortunate to at least have a friend in Maxwell, a real friend. He never judged Vim for his lack in skill, and always managed to show him the bright side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thus, he continued practicing his magic, retreating to the tavern if he lost his motivation, knowing that Tim would never be there as long as Maxwell lived there. More often than not, Vim’s visits were provoked by rumors he heard of the wizard. Once a man Vim wanted to be, now he never wanted to so much as hear the name again. His trip to the tavern on this day was the result of one particularly egregious rumor - that Tim had so much power within W.O.M.P., he was actively preventing Vim from ever joining the guild. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim had stormed off in outrage, desperately refusing to believe it could be true. He ordered a strong beverage from Lif, the tavern’s ghostly bartender, shrugging off the warnings from Maxwell’s mother. He recalled how much more self-assured the alcohol had made him feel during the festival. Before long, he was well past tipsy. Struggling past another wave of nausea, he wished he heeded the warnings of the chef. His body felt sluggish; he knew he would not be able to walk if he tried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“… yeah, you two should meet sometime. Tim’s great.” Vim barely heard from an adjacent table. He shakily got to his feet, one hand clasping the table for balance, the other quivering as it pointed at the chatting pair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t- Don’t you dare… say his name around me.” The two men looked at him, confused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, what are you talking about, kid? Kim’s not a guy.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kim? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vim thought, bewildered. He shook his head, immediately wishing he did not as his vision started to swim. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know they just said Tim. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re trying to trick me.” Vim gripped the table with the second hand to keep himself from staggering. “You’re trying… trying to get a reaction out of me, talking about how much… better he is than me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever, kid.” Vim barely heard the words. He was far gone. He ranted and raved about the injustices caused by Tim, until he eventually found himself slumped against the table. He had no idea how much time had passed, how long he was cursing the old wizard’s name. He sulked low in his chair, fiddling with the empty glass. The only people still sitting remotely near him were a couple of the City Guard who looked to have just arrived at the tavern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s already bad enough we’ve got all this gang violence to deal with, now this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, we’re already stretched thin as it is, how are we going to find anyone capable enough to take care of them?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>This could be my chance, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vim thought slowly. Maybe this was the opportunity he needed to prove himself. Not just to Tim, or even the Watchful Order, but to all of Waterdeep that he was more than just some foolish child who could barely create sparks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do it.” Vim declared, pushing himself up from the table. “I’ll go take care of those thugs.” The two City Guard regarded him with bemusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know we’re desperate,” chuckled one of them. “But we can’t just have some kid fighting a bunch of orcs.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah- wait… ” The other soldier narrowed his eyes, then widened them in recognition. “Aren’t you that gifted wizard making a name for himself? What was it…?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I know who you’re talking about! Tom, right? No wait, Tim! Tim Barringmore!” Vim flinched, opening his mouth to object, but he stopped himself. They would not allow just any kid on the mission, but if they think he is a master spellcaster… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s right. I’m Tim Barringmore,” The name felt like poison on his tongue. “And I can handle those ruffians.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What a relief, to have such an esteemed mage on the job.” Vim felt thrilled; they actually bought it. “But we shouldn’t send you in alone. Are there any other capable fighters here hoping to earn a bit more gold?” The soldier said, addressing the tavern. The gold never even crossed Vim’s mind, but anything they paid would be the cherry on top of sticking it to Tim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few minutes, Vim was outside with the rest of the volunteers, preparing to go. The most notable member of the group was the Griffon Cavalry rider, Captain Weshfield, with his griffon, Scout, returning from his leave early to help the city. Vim admired his dedication to protecting the citizens. He also appreciated having capable fighters to help in general; even the painfully awkward bard who called himself Threestrings seemed a more competent fighter than himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim was glad he at least knew some offensive and defensive spells from his spellbook, though he had never actually used them before; he felt a lot more comfortable with harmless trickery and helpful transmutation. He noticed a few doubtful looks from the griffon cavalry rider and the war veteran Marvin Gelwood, but they mercifully did not question him or turn him away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group traveled to the woods near Waterdeep where the City Guard last spotted the troublesome group, trepidation rising in Vim with any sound that did not come from the party. They noticed smoke rising in the distance, believing it to be an orc scout camp as they neared. Captain Weshfield, Scout, and Gelwood took to the head of the group, stealthily leading them through the trees, shooting an angry look back to the other three anytime they tripped over a log or stepped on a branch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At least I’m not the only one bad at this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vim thought, glancing over at Threestrings and Embric, the fire genasi blacksmith, who somehow seemed to stumble through the brush even more clumsily than himself. Before long, they arrived at the camp. Incredibly enough, they went completely undetected by the orc scouts, who were busy loudly eating their midday meal. The griffon captain raised a hand, crossbow ready in the other. The rest of the group readied their respective weapons. Vim pulled out his wand, mentally preparing his Fire Bolt. Captain Weshfield counted down from five on his fingers, and when the last one was lowered, the group attacked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim loosed the spell, smiling in satisfaction that he was able to land a hit on an orc. Through the combined surprise attack of the party, one of the orcs was already downed before he could even react, killed by expertly thrown daggers and a crossbow bolt to the head. That was when Vim noticed a strange metal humanoid stand up near the campfire. It did not appear to be an immediate threat, so he focused on one of the remaining orcs. He cast another Fire Bolt, but the brute saw it coming this time and dodged out of the way of the small blast. He glared, raising his crude battle axe to swing at the nearby Gelwood, but faltered upon hearing a string of magical insults from Threestrings. Embric saw the opportunity and rushed in with his great axe, landing a killing blow on the wounded orc. Gelwood attacked another with his scimitar, and Vim shot a Fire Bolt right after, felling the savage. The last orc was defeated with bow and crossbow shots from Threestrings and Weshfield. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only remaining enemy in the camp was the metallic man, whose boots and back began to glow blue. Weshfield fired his crossbow, hitting the humanoid, but it did not damage it enough to stop it. It glowed a brighter blue and took off, flying up past the treeline. Vim waved his wand, launching a Fire Bolt, just missing a hit. Threestrings pulled out his bow, firing an arrow, and managed to hit it straight in the back. The metal man crashed back to the ground, reduced to dust on impact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That looks like transmutation magic.” Vim said, puzzled. He read about how mages could transform one material into something completely different, but it was powerful magic. The orcs were definitely not working alone. Embric waved his arms to get the group’s attention, pointing at the dust. The blacksmith seemed unable - or perhaps unwilling - to speak, resorting to communicating with the group via gestures. Weshfield retrieved the paper that rested in the dust, frowning as the fire genasi crouched and tasted a bit of the grimey powder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t do that,” the cavalryman chided. “We can eat the food the orc scouts made. It looks like they only just started their meal.” He inspected the paper closely. “These appear to be instructions to their main hideout. We’ll set off once we’ve eaten and deciphered these coordinates.” Embric stood up, pointing at himself and then the map. “You want to help?” The captain asked. The fire genasi nodded. Weshfield sighed, but did not contest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim picked up one of the bowls of food, picking at it slowly as he looked at the others. Some of them were injured from the battle, taking hits that Vim knew would knock him out, if not worse. He did not have the armor or combat experience of the rest of the group, and wondered if he were better off turning away now, returning to the safety of the city walls. It was tempting, but he still wanted to continue on. He had so much to gain from a successful mission, he had to take the risk. He knew he could cast Shield to protect himself in a pinch if needed, he just hoped that between that and his tougher companions, he would make it out unscathed. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Captain Weshfield and Embric managed to decipher the coordinates, and the group found themselves at the edge of the forest before a clearing, an old tower standing in the middle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s probably crawling with orcs, we can’t just walk over… ” Weshfield said, growing pensive. It was a long stretch of space to reach the tall building, they would be spotted in an instant. “I’ll fly over on Scout and distract them for as long as I can while the rest of you sneak in.” Scout squawked and scratched at the ground, eager to fly. Vim nodded, heart racing. He hoped that the colossal creature would serve enough of a distraction to prevent any arrows in his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cavalryman mounted the beast and they took off, straight for the roof of the tower. After a minute they could hear faint shouts of surprise on the wind as the griffon swooped, attempting to pick up orcs while Weshfield thrust with his lance. Gelwood bolted into the clearing, and the others followed close behind. They miraculously reached the base of the tower without arousing any attention from the orcs, still yelling as the griffon swooped at them. Vim held his wand up, ready to fire, as the group opened the door and stealthily stepped inside. The only orc spotted was running up the stairs, presumably to deal with the griffon. He lowered his wand and looked around the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was even more clear how dilapidated the tower was on the inside. The walls crumbled in some parts, sometimes even missing parts, with sunlight entering through the holes. Vim could feel the tremors in the building as the orcs fought on the roof. The long abandoned tower certainly made for a good hideout, beyond the outskirts of the city. In the center of the room, a massive metal statue of perplexing architecture rested. It was composed of two pentagonal prisms, with a cylinder joining the two in the center. A leg protruded from each of the five faces at the bottom, and an arm from the five on the higher one. The head on the top, he noted, only had one eye. Before he could inspect further, Embric walked past, cutting off the head of a small, unpowered metallic man that laid nearby, and it turned to dust just as the first one did. He tasted a bit of the dust, then pointed to the staircase. The rest nodded, and followed him up the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim did not like how they creaked and groaned as they climbed, nor the holes in the steps. They could hear orcs conversing in the next room as they neared the top of the set of stairs. The unit paused, quietly deliberating what they should do about the orcs; they would have to get past them to get to the roof, but taking them all on at once without a plan would be suicide; there sounded to be a fair amount. Threestrings peeked around and noticed that they were joined by six of the metal men and would have to take care of them quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few more moments of consideration, Threestrings stood up and walked to the top of the steps, strumming on his lute and singing mystical words, almost appearing to be in a trance. Vim’s heart was in his throat; the orcs and metallic humanoids would surely see him. He hoped that, whatever spell the bard was casting, it worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did it,” Threestrings said softly after a few seconds, and Vim heard the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Then the bard opened his eyes, looking troubled at what he saw. The rest of the group fell in behind, looking at a group of confused and irritated orcs gathered around a planning table in a war room, and six collapsed metal men. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell is this all about?” One who looked to be the chief demanded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, um… ” Threestrings looked very anxious. “The boss, they- they want all these old ones destroyed. Yeah. There are some new ones coming in, much better than these ones.” The orc chief considered his words for a moment. “We’re part of the engineering team,” the bard continued. “And we’ve found this model to be prone to blowing up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay… Do we know when he’ll be sending us these better ones?” To Vim’s surprise, the orc actually seemed convinced by the excuse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should be later today,” the Threestrings said, rushing over to one of the metal men, severing its head from the body after a moment of effort, and it was reduced to dust. “Would some of your men be able to help take these apart? I am but a simple engineer, I can put it together and repair it, but taking it apart is a whole new matter.” From the floor above them came a particularly large bang and many orc shouts. “Once we get these sorted, we can join your men in dealing with that griffon we saw flying over.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” the chief said, waving a grimy hand at the other orcs. “Go and help this puny man take apart the metal men.” The orcs shrugged and destroyed the metallic humanoids without complaint, to the surprise of Vim. He was certain they were one wrong move away from a confrontation, but somehow Threestrings convinced them the party was on their side. The group of orcs walked over to the stairway where Vim and his companions stood. Embric stood aside and gestured to the stairs, facing the orcs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It might be better if you go up before us,” Threestrings said, quickly thinking of an excuse. “We can’t take hits as well as you strong orcs, and we’ll be better at shooting it out of the sky.” The bard pointed to the bow on his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, then, they’ll follow you lot up.” The chief seemed to accept the excuse, not noticing that half the group wielded melee weapons. The orcs proceeded up the stairs, followed closely by Embric, then the rest of the party. Once the last of the orcs reached the roof and their full attention was on Captain Weshfield and the griffon, Embric waved them back. The four rushed back down the stairs, weapons drawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t very smart of you to trust us,” Threestrings said, the chief looking genuinely hurt by the words of the magical insult. Gelwood threw his daggers and slashed with the scimitar before the orc could ready his crude battle axe. He swung the axe at his assailants, just missing each of them in the confined space. Vim waved his wand, casting Fire Bolt, but the weak flames fizzled out before they reached the chief. Embric ran by with his great axe, landing a hefty blow on the chief, who snarled and swung his axe again, managing to hit Gelwood. Vim flinched, but the war veteran shrugged it off, going for another attack with his scimitar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few more blows from the group, and the orc chief was finally downed. Vim felt relieved; the chief was a lot tougher than the scouts they fought before, he looked like he could have chopped Vim’s head off with a butter knife. But the matter remained of the orcs on the roof; the cavalryman would not be able to hold them off forever. The four made for the stairs, freezing at a particularly loud screech from the griffon. Vim could not see what happened, but less than a second later, Captain Weshfield crashed through the entryway and into one of the decayed wooden support beams. He looked rough, armor dented in places, blood staining various portions of himself and his lance. The group started as the tower began shaking again, more intensely. They dashed down the stairs, avoiding collapsing walls and jumping past debris as they went. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah!” Vim cried out, losing his balance. One of the stairs crumbled beneath his feet and he fell forward, unable to catch himself. As he fell, he felt arms wrap around him. Weshfield had grabbed the boy and fell with him, expertly rolling down the stairs and avoiding damage to the two thanks to his armor. “Thanks,” Vim said breathless. They all ultimately made it to the bottom floor relatively unscathed, hurrying for the door on the other side of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they reached the center of the room near the large metal statue, however, the floor gave way. They all fell, Embric grasping the neighboring Vim. The blacksmith caused them to fall away from the statue, breaking the fall with his armor. The landing left Vim winded, but otherwise unharmed. Looking around, everyone appeared to reach the bottom without landing dangerously or getting crushed by the falling statue. After a moment to catch his breath, he thanked Embric, who gave a thumbs up in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim estimated they were at least thirty feet down, if not more. They would need the griffon’s help to get out; some of the holes in the tower looked large enough for the beast to fit through. This plan of escape was dashed when the building itself started collapsing, falling in on itself. Vim ducked near the metal statue to shield himself from the falling debris, but none fell into the pit. He risked a look up, and saw the collapsed ceiling was mostly intact, held in place by the remains of the ruined floor. It looked to be stable for now, but there were no openings for a griffon to fit through; they would have to figure out another way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim looked around the pit itself. He found it strange that the area directly below the tower was hollowed out in such a way. He could not discern a way out of the pit with the sudden lower visibility, and his companions did not seem to fare much better in their search. The only notable feature he could make out was a short stone platform about two thirds the way up between the bottom and the floor of the tower. It looked semi-natural. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Embric waved his arms at the group to get their attention, pointing up and holding a single finger up to his mouth. After a moment, Vim heard footsteps from above. He looked for a place to hide, but besides the statue there was not much in the space to conceal himself behind, and definitely not enough for everyone to remain unseen. Vim ducked low and stuck to the sides of the pit, hoping that whoever approached would not look through the collapsed tower rubble and see them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the footfalls came closer, Vim realized they were not coming from directly above them as he previously thought; they sounded like they came from the direction of the stone platform. He peered through the darkness, looking for any sign of movement above them, and noticed a man appear from the gloom. He appeared to be a wizard. He was clad in brown robes, carrying a satchel over his shoulder and a few scrolls on his hip. The wizard clapped his hands, lighting up the entire area. He noticed people in the pit straight away, looking between the destroyed tower and the people below in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” He demanded. “You aren’t supposed to be here.” A small part of Vim had hoped that the wizard might help them out, but considering he came from someplace beneath the tower of orcs, he was likely the one working with them. Vim noticed Weshfield draw his crossbow and Threestrings his bow, and retrieved his own wand, anxiously anticipating the fight. Gelwood attacked first, throwing his two daggers at the wizard, one cutting his arm. Threestrings fired an arrow, and Vim cast a Fire Bolt, but the wizard was ready for the attacks and ducked out of the way. Vim noticed the wizard give him a strange look as he dodged, almost as if he recognized Vim. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He probably thinks I’m Tim, too, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought with a bit of irritation. He did not have the chance to brood over it long; the wizard cast a spell of his own, and the metal statue near them started to move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The statue stood up on its five feet, each of its four sections spinning independently. Weshfield fired his crossbow at the sculpture, nearly hitting it straight in the singular eye. The eye focused on the nearby Gelwood, and the arm section began to spin very rapidly, striking him and nearly hitting Vim. Embric swung at the statue with his great axe, knocking a sizable dent into it. Gelwood and Threestrings focused their fire on the metal statue as well, and, despite the darts of the wizard’s Magic Missile striking them, the group eventually took down the statue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of collapsing and turning to dust like the smaller metal men, however, the statue began to glow yellow and started spinning faster and faster, producing a whirring sound. Vim backed away from it in shock. He recognized the magic at play. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That thing’s gonna explode!” Vim shouted to the group. The wizard above them chuckled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The boy’s right. Maybe you’re not so useless after all.” Vim looked up at the wizard in bewilderment. This feeling quickly shifted to terror as the man changed in appearance; he now looked much older, his brown robes turned to blue, and a tall blue hat appeared atop his head. His black hair became white, and the long white beard reappeared. With the illusion down, it was unmistakable who the furious wizard in front of them was. “You may have tricked the rest of the city, but you can’t fool the real Tim Barringmore!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve spent all of my life using my powers for Waterdeep and her people, protecting them from countless threats; from petty squabbles to fires and orc invasions, and for what? Some </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come along and destroy the reputation I’ve built up over decades in a matter of months! The boy who can’t even reliably use Prestidigitation has somehow convinced them all that he is a prodigy! That </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the useless wizard! I could expect this confusion from some lowly commoners, but you have turned me into a joke even within W.O.M.P.! And even now, in my finest hour, you come stumbling along and ruin everything. These constructs were meant to end Waterdeep, but I think I like this outcome just as well. With you out of the picture, my plans won’t be interrupted again.” With one final look of contempt at Vim, Tim Barringmore ran back down the corridor he came from. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vim felt his unsteady knees finally give way, and he fell to the ground, sobbing into his hands. The old wizard was one of the highest ranking members of the Watchful Order; he would be aware of the protective wards around the city and know where to strike. And with his lofty status, he could easily betray them. And now, because of Vim’s actions, everyone in the pit with him would die, and countless more casualties would result from Tim’s next move. The senior wizard was right about Vim being a failure; if he were not, maybe he could get everyone out of this mess. Maybe none of it would have happened in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let us know if you see a way out!” The voice of the griffon cavalryman pulled him away from his self loathing thoughts long enough to look at the group. It looked as though they propped his lance against the edges of the pit, near the platform. It was bent and crumpled now, but at its original length Vim believed it would have reached halfway up the wall. At the top, looking down at the group, Gelwood stood, giving Weshfield a nod before going down the corridor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Embric began stripping off his garments. Vim looked away, discomfited. Apparently, the rest of the group must have reacted in a similar disapproving manner, as the fire genasi waved the now tied together clothes at them after a moment, then made a motion of tossing them toward the platform. The notion still left the boy a bit uncomfortable, but he also felt a bit hopeful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe we can make it out of here after all!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wiped the tears away from his eyes, approaching the group as he removed his cloak of protection, robe, and sweater vest, pointedly looking away from the blacksmith. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give some of them to me, I can mend them together.” Vim knew that there wouldn’t be enough time to use Mending on every piece of clothing, but he could get some of it together while the others tied. In a couple minutes, the new rope of clothes was complete, just as Gelwood arrived back. Vim looked back at the spinning statue with concern. It glowed red instead of yellow, and the whirring was much louder. They would have to get up and out quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found the way out!” Gelwood shouted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll throw you the rope,” Weshfield replied, grabbing the loop of clothes and tossing it up. Gelwood caught it, pulling it around the platform and toward the edges of the pit to provide a foothold. With the rope held down by Gelwood, the captain gave it an experimental tug before climbing up. Threestrings, Vim, and Embric each made their way up, with help at the top from Gelwood. Vim took one last glance at the spinning statue before following the others down the corridor. It was glowing white and whirring very loudly; there was little time left to escape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corridor led them to a lengthy room. Vim noticed that, despite being underground with no light sources or openings, the space was also lit. He wondered why the wizard would choose to leave it aglow. Gelwood flipped a switch that was on one end of the room, and a portal with sparky yellow edges opened on the other side. Vim could see grass and daylight through the opening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t get anything to hold it open.” Gelwood explained. When he released the lever, the portal instantly closed. “We gotta figure something out, fast.” Vim could still hear the urgent whirring of the statue; the room they were in was not that far from it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The group tried to hold the lever in place with various weapons and articles of clothing, but the portal only stayed open if one of the five was touching it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That fiend! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vim thought with a sinking feeling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I bet he did this by design. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Embric held the lever down, arriving at the same conclusion, gesturing for everyone to go. Gelwood ran through the portal, but the other three remained. Vim’s heart raced, breathing quickening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Embric, you can’t!” Threestings insisted. “You have something to lose here, what about Avi?” Scout appeared at the portal, squawking nervously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am a member of the City Guard,” Weshfield said gravely. “My duty is to protect Waterdeep’s citizens, even at the cost of my own life. I implore you to let me keep the portal open.” But Embric only shook his head sadly, the whirring of the statue growing near deafening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell Avi I love him,” The fire genasi pronounced in a cracked voice. Weshfield nodded, running through the portal with Threestrings close behind. Vim was frozen in place, vision blurring. Embric waved his free hand at the boy, pointing to the portal. None of this was right. He had to tell him it was not okay, that he should be the one to hold the lever, but his voice refused to work. All he could do was shake his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt someone grab him. Gelwood. He did not fight it, he had no more fight left in him. He was put down at the grass, the portal behind them closing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re still by the tower, we have to run, quickly!” Weshfield commanded. Vim somehow willed himself to run behind the others. He stumbled a couple times over branches and stones, his misty vision giving no warning to the obstructions. No sooner had he reached the treeline, he heard the sickening detonation, feeling the shockwave warm the air around him a moment later. He wiped his eyes, wailing after he risked a glance back to the tower. It was completely destroyed. Nothing remained, save a substantial crater where the tower once stood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“His death… won’t be in vain.” Threestrings tried to console. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But he shouldn’t have died at all! That should have been me!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vim sunk down to his knees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll warn the City Guard and W.O.M.P. of Tim’s plans and keep anyone else from getting hurt.” Weshfield added. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody should have been hurt at all,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vim lamented. He was too weak to speak up and save Embric. Even if the blacksmith still insisted on holding the lever, everything could have been avoided. None of this would have happened if Vim were not such a failure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t blame yourself, kid,” Captain Weshfield said after a few minutes, crouching down next to the boy. “If he was willing to snap over that, something else would have set him off just as easily.” Vim shrugged, staring at the ground. “We’re going back to the city now,” the captain continued, standing back up and extending a hand. “Scout can’t fly since he’s hurt, but he can still carry you if you can’t walk.” Vim shook his head, accepting the hand. Now on his feet, he trudged behind the group back to Waterdeep. He silently vowed to dedicate himself to wizardry, wishing to never again allow a needless death. </span>
</p>
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